


the beginning of purpose

by noctiphany



Series: Fragile Machines [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Deviant Markus, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, healthy Carl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: Carl feels things deep in his soul, pours those feelings on canvas, creates masterpieces with them. Androids don't have souls. This is never going to work.orElijah sends Carl a gift for his birthday. They'vesotalked about this.





	the beginning of purpose

“Eli,” Carl muttered into the phone, lingering right outside the kitchen. “You son of a bitch.”

On the other end, Elijah laughed heartily and Carl smiled at the sound despite how annoyed he was with the fucker at the moment. Elijah’s laughter had always been magical to him, always made Carl’s hands itch to reach for a brush, as if he could capture the sound of it with bright colors and brush strokes.

“You got my gift, then.”

“Eli,” Carl said again, this time sterner. “We’ve talked about this.”

Dozens of times. Hundreds, possibly. Carl had been in love with Elijah once, that much was undeniably true, but Elijah’s work had been a completely different story. Carl was an artist, a creator. He felt things deep in his soul and poured those feelings onto canvas, made them into masterpieces. There was no soul in artificial intelligence. There was no morality or integrity in creating perfect imitations of human beings only to use them as nothing more than slaves. It was wrong, all of it, and Carl had never wanted anything to do with it. It had been one of the reasons he and Elijah had ultimately parted ways.

Carl overheard the cork being popped on a bottle of wine and shook his head, smiling to himself again. It was probably a vintage Cab if he knew Elijah, but just as he had the thought a wave of melancholy washed over him, tugging at a spot behind his ribs. Carl had to remind himself that it had been nearly a decade since he and Elijah had been together; it was very possible that Elijah’s taste had changed by now.

“You keep yourself locked inside that big house painting all the time,” Elijah said. ”It’s not healthy. You need company.”

Carl closed his eyes and focused on Elijah’s voice while he spoke. They were thousands of miles apart, but it didn’t matter. He could see Elijah’s face so clearly in his head, the little creases of worry in the corners of his eyes, the frown pulling at his bottom lip. Carl wondered if he still kept his hair long, if it still smelled of mangoes and coconut.

“I know you don’t like them,” Elijah heaved a heavy sigh, tinged with a familiar frustration that Carl had heard many times in their years together, usually related to the same topic of conversation. “Trust me, I remember. Vividly. But -- Carl. it would please me greatly if you kept him. I --” A brief pause, then a change in Elijah’s tone that made Carl’s chest go tight again. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

Carl glanced over at the android standing at the island in his kitchen, chopping up garlic and asparagus with precise, mechanical motions. Before Carl had taken his phone out to call Elijah the android had asked him what he wanted him to do. Carl had just waved his hand at him and said, “Whatever you want.”

Now it was cooking him a meal, apparently. For fuck’s sake. 

“I hate this so much,” Carl grumbled into the phone and banged his head back against the wall, but Elijah could probably already detect his resolve. He’d always been too smart for his own fucking good.

“I know,” Elijah said and sure enough, Carl could practically hear the smirk in his tone. “But at least he’s nice to look at, hm?”

Carl groaned. “Goodbye, Eli.”

Elijah laughed once more and right before hanging up, uttered a soft and sweet, “Happy birthday, my friend.”

 

: : :

 

“This is, uh, really good. Thank you. For making dinner.” Carl didn’t generally fumble so much with his words, but it also wasn’t every night he sat at his dinner table eating a five star meal with a fucking robot sitting across from him, the little blue light on it’s temple spinning and blinking, not letting Carl forget that even though he looked human, he was anything but.

“Thank you, Carl. You’re very welcome. Elijah pre-programmed me with one hundred and fourteen of your favorite recipes.”

For fuck’s sake, Eli.

“Fantastic,” Carl muttered, shaking his head. He’d asked the android to sit down with him because prior to that he’d just been hovering over him like a fucking vulture, but having him sit at the table across from him, not eating or moving or  _ breathing, _ well, that wasn’t any better. Carl tried to tell himself that it was just an android, that he didn’t have to say or do anything. It’s not like the android would give a shit, but for some reason he felt compelled to make small talk anyway. Christ, he hated small talk. “So, uh. What’s your name?”

He certainly didn’t want to go around saying,  _ hey, Android,  _ all the time.

“I am a Cyberlife prototype android model RK200. Serial number six-eight-four, eight-four-two, nine-seven-one.”

“Jesus, no,” Carl said, cringing. Goddamn Elijah, always talking him into shit. This was never going to work. “A serial number isn’t a  _ name _ . Are you going to call me by my social security number?”

“No. Your name is Carl. I will call you Carl.”

“Exactly. So what should I call you?”

“I’m sorry, Carl. Elijah did not give me a name. He wanted to let you be the one to choose my name. Would you like to choose my name now?”

Carl sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “You’re not a goddamn  _ dog, _ ” he muttered, mostly to himself. What was he thinking? There was no way this was going to work. He wasn’t Elijah. He was never going to be able to get passed the fact that the thing that looked and sounded and acted just like a human was nothing but a machine. Empty and soulless.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Carl.”

Carl closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s not -- you didn’t.”

“I can pick my own name, if you like.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes. I have a database of over thirteen thousand names that I can randomize and choose from.” Carl watched the android’s eyes blink rapidly and his LED turn yellow as it spun around. Finally, he opened his eyes and said, “Theodore.”

Carl wrinkled his nose. The kid definitely didn’t look like a Theodore. The android cocked it’s head to the side slightly, then his eyes went to blinking and the LED began spinning again.

“Andrew,” he said this time when the spinning stopped.

Carl’s brows drew together, forehead wrinkling, and the android tried again.

When it’s eyes stopped blinking and the LED light turned blue again, he opened his eyes.

“How do you feel about Markus, Carl?

Carl tilted his head, taking in the android’s face and features. It definitely seemed to fit better than Theodore or Andrew, for sure. But he still felt uncomfortable naming it himself. “How do  _ you _ feel about Markus?”

“What do you mean?”

Carl huffed. “I mean, does it sound okay to you? What do you think about it?”

“Markus.” The android’s LED light blinked a few times. “A masculine given name of Ancient Roman pre-Christian origin. A reference to Mars, the Roman God of War.”

Carl snorted. “Okay, good to know. But do you like it? It’s what you’re going to be called for the rest of your..uh, life.”

“I don’t -”

“Okay, nevermind that. How about you just say it outloud, see how it feels?”

“Feels?”

Carl sighed. “Just give it a go.”

The android looked at Carl, the sunset from the window behind Carl reflected in his inhumanly green eyes, making them burst with color. “My name is Markus.”

Then he smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” Carl smiled back. “Markus.”

 

:  : :

 

Eli had tried to explain to Carl that having an android in the house would be no different than having a vacuum bot roam around cleaning floors while he painted, or asking his CyberLife Home system to draw the curtains for him or turn up the heat. 

Carl begged to differ.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?”

It was two in the morning and he’d been woken up by banging noises coming from the studio downstairs.

“I’m sorry, Carl,” Markus said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Jesus, I thought someone was trying to break in. I thought Leo --” Carl stopped himself short and looked around. “What were you doing?”

“I was just doing some cleaning, but the studio didn’t need much, so I decided to take an inventory of your paints and supplies so I can make a list of what you need. Tomorrow, if you don’t mind, I can take the bus into the city and collect the supplies you’re out of and --”

Carl pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you alright, Carl?”

“Except for running on three hours of sleep? Nah, I’m great.”

“I’m very sorry for waking you, Carl.” Markus frowned.

“It’s fine,” Carl grumbled, feeling guilty even though he knew the expression was just part of Markus’ programming. He knew Markus didn’t  _ actually _ feed bad about waking him. Androids don’t feel things. They’re just really, really good at acting like they do. God, it was such a bunch of crap. Why would anyone make a machine look and act exactly like a human, right down to facial expressions, and expect people to remember that it’s just a machine. It’s all just...fake.

“Would you like me to make a pot of tea to help you get back to sleep? I picked up chamomile yesterday when I was at the market because I noticed it takes you awhile to get to sleep at night sometimes.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Carl muttered. “I’m going back to bed. Can you just -- can you even sleep?”

“If you’d prefer, I can go into shut down mode for the night instead of monitoring the home.”

Carl was starting to get a goddamn migraine. “Please,” he said. “Go to sleep. Turn off. Hibernate. Whatever. Just be quiet.”

“Yes, Carl,” Markus said.

“There’s a guest room upstairs that’s made up,” Carl muttered between yawns as he made his way back up the stairs, too tired to realize that androids wouldn’t exactly have a need for a bed. “Across the hall from mine. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Carl.”

 

: : :

 

Carl woke up at a quarter past eight, birds singing at his window. The sun spilled through the tiny crack where the curtains hadn’t been closed all the way, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. Carl filed the lighting and colors away for when he was down in the studio later and got up to pee and brush his teeth. By the time he was dressed, it occurred to him that for the past week Markus had been the one to wake him up, annoyingly chipper and yanking the curtains back as he rattled off the weather forecast for the day. Either he’d finally gotten the message that Carl wasn’t a morning person, which seemed unlikely, or something was up. 

He checked in the kitchen to see if he was making breakfast, which Carl had asked him  _ repeatedly _ not to do, then in the living room because sometimes he’d find him dusting the books on the shelves. It wasn’t until he thought about checking in the studio that it hit him.

Carl opened the door to the guest room slowly. The curtains in this room were drawn back and the sun was all the way up now, illuminating the room in bright shafts of lights. On the bed, Marcus lay on his side, his eyes closed, his body backlit by the golden halo of light. Like this, the side of his temple with the LED pressed into the pillow, he looked every bit human. And although Carl was loathe to admit it, Eli had been right. Markus was absolutely gorgeous. If Eli could be considered an artist, Markus would be his masterpiece. From the freckles and imperfections in his skin to his long, dark eyelashes, Carl found it hard to take his eyes off of him. 

“Markus,” Carl finally said, starting to feel weird just sitting there watching Markus sleep, and put his hand on Markus’ shoulder. “Wake up.”

At the sound of Carl’s voice, Markus eyes slowly opened and when he saw Carl, he smiled. God, it was the most perfect smile Carl had ever seen. Maybe Eli was an artist after all.

“Good morning, Markus,” Carl said, adding a certain inflection to his tone. “Today is Tuesday, May the twentieth and it is seventy-three degrees outside with a ten percent chance of precipitation.”

Markus smiled widened. “Carl.”

“Come on, now. Get up,” Carl said, patting him on the leg over the covers. “I need coffee and I have no idea how to work that new damn espresso maker you bought.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- This will be somewhat of a series, when inspiration strikes.  
> \- This will eventually be Mature/Explicit  
> \- This will be a Carl/Markus fic, not a Markus is Carl's son fic.  
> \- If you don't like any of that, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but your preferences in fictional characters and shipping ain't one.


End file.
